<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Heat wave by spellwing777</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22661365">Heat wave</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellwing777/pseuds/spellwing777'>spellwing777</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A/B/O, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Ella Fitzgerald - Heat Wave is recommended listening while reading, Feels, Geralt is understanding and empathetic, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Uses His Words, Jaskier is a smol sweet bean, M/M, She would ABSOLUTELY not approve of this though she too classy for this trash, just basically a social commentary on feudalism and the military-industrial complex, worldbuilding is my fetish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:27:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22661365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellwing777/pseuds/spellwing777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>We're having a heat wave,<br/>A tropical heat wave,<br/>The temperature's rising,<br/>It isn't surprising-</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We’re having a heat wave…a tropical heat wave,” Jaskier sang and panted in turns, fanning himself. It was <em> unreasonably </em>hot today. “The temperature’s rising, it isn't surprising-”</p><p> </p><p>A passing farmer cussed at him, looking mutinous and sweaty, so Jaskier started to hum instead. The road was getting more crowded the closer he got to town, and he didn't want to get run out of it before he even set foot in the place. He was in desperate need of a wash for himself and his clothes. </p><p> </p><p>Well, and in desperate need of a drink. Or several, really.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier sighed, trying not to think about it. It’d been a few days since they’d split, and he’d been spending most of his waking hours obsessing over it. His first feeling had been shock, then he’d felt deeply hurt, then <em> absolutely furious- </em></p><p> </p><p>-Now he was just...confused, and resigned to his confusion. </p><p> </p><p>It’s not like they hadn’t traveled separately before; Geralt wintered in the wolf school stronghold every year, and at times during the rest of the year they’d go on different paths to pursue other contracts or visit different towns. But they’d always make plans to meet up at a time and place, or run into each other, or hear about one of the other’s trials and tribulations through the rumor mill and track each other down that way. Neither of them-with their very distinct looks and famous deeds-were difficult to find, really, even with their propensity to wander over hill and dale. Unfortunately, he knew the chances of a happy reunion now were...slim. Even if they did, by some miracle, run into each other Jaskier can’t say if he’d restrain himself from punching the man, even if he knew all that would do is get him a broken hand.</p><p> </p><p>He sighed-again-and sat on a boulder by the road to dab on his perfume. He’d been smelling uncommonly...<em> ripe, </em>on account of running out of soap some time ago, and he wants to be pleasant on all the senses to get some welcome coin. Well, that and he probably needs to suppress his hormones. ‘Tis the season’ as they said; spring running riot around every corner with everything and anything trying to bugger or get buggered around here. Geralt had never much liked spring, the witcher saying he preferred the quiet hibernation of winter to being pulled out of his lassitude by every goddamn bird screaming ‘fuck me’ at five am every morning. Jaskier had been woken more than once by an explosion of aard and the squawk of whatever unfortunate bird had pulled the witcher from sleep. At this point the yearly terrorizing of the avian population was as much of a rite of spring as apple blossoms.</p><p> </p><p>At least the other man didn't have to deal with the, ah, <em> other </em> rites of spring. Geralt had told him that becoming a witcher stripped the ability to present, which he quite honestly envied. He, on the other hand, had to make sure to be careful from the time the first buds appeared to the summer solstice if he didn't want a mob after him ever since he’d presented as an early teen. Granted, he got into all sorts of other trouble-being in beds he shouldn't, following a witcher around while he killed monsters-but the thought of presenting in the middle of a crowded town gave him cold shudders. He <em> knew </em>what would happen then, and he really liked being a free, unmated bard wandering as he pleased rather than…</p><p> </p><p>He coughed, dabbing on an extra measure, just in case.</p><p> </p><p>That done he headed in, following in the heels of market-goers. This was a bigger town that drew a lot of the surrounding peasantry in to swap livestock and produce, buy things they couldn't make themselves, that sort of thing. Just the kind of place he could ply his trade with a bowl for donations of-if not coin-at least some eggs or bread. He was <em> starving, </em>on account of being used to the witcher dragging game in for the both of them. Or monster after he’d dropped off the trophy; apparently wyvern tail was good eating.</p><p> </p><p><em> Well, I don’t need that monosyllabic boor to keep myself fed, </em> He thought, aggressively tuning the strings, <em> I was taking care of myself before he even showed up brooding in a corner, and I’ll keep doing so after.  </em></p><p> </p><p>He set the bowl down, cleared his throat, and started. “Toss a coin to your-”</p><p> </p><p>He jerked, startled, as a loud <em> boom </em>cut in. The other market-goers around him paused too, looking about in confusion. Everyone waited, but nothing happened, and after a minute or two of no other explosions activity resumed. Jaskier blinked, then shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>“Toss a coin to your-”<b>BOOM.</b></p><p> </p><p>He was a bit embarrassed at the yelp he made, but it’s not like he was the only one. A few around him even ducked, thinking surely something was sent flying by that. That one had been louder, and<em> closer </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Again, a long pause. Looking about. Nothing. Eventually, people warily resumed their activities. Jaskier carefully started strumming his lute.</p><p> </p><p>“...Toss a coin to your-”</p><p> </p><p><em> This </em>time the boom was followed by the sound of people yelling and running. At the far end of the square the bard could see a blast of shrapnel and frantically fluttering chickens, and then the stampede started. People and animals alike scrambled to run away from whatever it was that was causing it, and the bard was swept up in it. He could only manage to shoot a glare at his lute as he was elbowed and kicked.</p><p> </p><p>“Damn it, I should have known a free lute from a bunch of murderous kidnappers would have a catch-” </p><p> </p><p>Eventually the stampede dumped him near what looked like the local inn, and he ducked inside to get out of the chaos. Once in, he blinked in confusion.</p><p> </p><p>It was...well, for one, it was completely empty. Two, it was an absolute <em> mess. </em> Furniture had been tossed about, mugs and platters scattered across the floor. This had to have been recent, from the way one of the chicken legs that he snatched was still warm. Gnawing on it, he surveyed the wreck thoughtfully. Looked a bit like a brawl happened, but usually there were groaning people in corners nursing broken noses, not devoid of people with their food and coin left behind. <em> ‘Waste not, want not,’ </em> he thought, scooping them up.</p><p> </p><p>He jumped at the sound of a whimper, stuffing them in his pockets. “W-who’s there?”</p><p> </p><p>A pair of watery eyes and a balding pate slowly emerged from behind the bar. “Is he gone?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve no clue who ‘he’ is, but <em> everyone </em>else is gone, so…”</p><p> </p><p>The other man breathed a sigh of relief, and emerged shakily from behind the bar. “Good god, I’ve never seen it that bad.”</p><p> </p><p>Sensing an opportunity for more than just a few coins and leftovers, Jaskier perked up. “Seen what, my good man?”</p><p> </p><p>“A presentation.” The innkeeper groaned. “Omega went into heat right here.”</p><p> </p><p>He blinked in confusion, a bit lost. Omegas going into heat wasn't anything new. After all, it was spring. Granted, going into heat at an inn was a bit awkward, but usually any omega just locked their door and stayed in until it passed, or went to the local brothel (and then the local herbalist after).</p><p> </p><p>“...And?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fight broke out when the omega came down for some food.” The man explained, coming out to survey the damage. “Worst I’ve ever seen.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier’s eyebrows crept into his hairline. It <em> used </em>to be that alphas would fight each other-sometime to the death-until only one remained to carry off the omega but that had been banned for generations, such barbaric customs having no place in civilized society. Not since the myriad little farming communities had come under the thumbs of lords and kings and cities had been built, which was...at least a few centuries; he was a little fuzzy on his history. Of course you heard about it happening in the rural areas, juicy rumors of the backwards ways of peasants being traded among the halls of the university, but he's traveled out and about in those communities and not seen any of that. If anything, the rural areas are even more rabidly anti-alpha than the cities, which to be honest is in keeping with these insular little communities being rabidly anti-elf, anti-dwarf...well, you get the picture. All in all, it’s an unlikely circumstance in an unlikely locale.</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t that a flogging offense?”</p><p> </p><p>“And a day in the stocks, yes.” The innkeeper sighed, looking at a broken table. “But fight wasn't that; the witcher-”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Witcher?” </em> Jaskier hustled over to the man. “Did he have white hair?”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded. “Yup. Famous white wolf himself. Stupid plowing Greg had to say that he’d ‘breed that bitch ass good’ when he scented that omega heat, and the fucking witcher hauled off and punched him.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier winced. Okay, Geralt defending the dignity of some probably scared omega worried about being harassed by some belligerent drunk alpha made more sense he guessed.  </p><p> </p><p>“All his buddies jumped in, and before you know it the whole fucking place was a big ol’ brawl. Ploughing mutant blasted it with...some kinda magic, whatever. People practically ran over each other trying to get out.” The innkeeper groaned. </p><p> </p><p>Well, that explained the explosions. “Did the brawl go outside then?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aye, the witcher chased them out. Never seen one of those so feral; blasted mutant threw one of my chairs <em> through </em>the roof.”</p><p> </p><p>He blinked. “You mean...onto the roof?”</p><p> </p><p>The innkeeper scowled at him. “No.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier jerked a little when he felt something land on him, and frowned at the little pile of straw sitting so innocuously on his shoulder. Then he looked up...straight into a sizable hole in the thatch. </p><p> </p><p>“...Oh dear.” </p><p> </p><p>The innkeeper ignored him. “And now the man is out there probably fighting with the goddamned guard, and by the time they’ve wrestled him into a cell they’ll have taken all his coin and left nothing for damages and-”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly the man stared at him, and Jaskier felt very uncomfortable under the look. Something that passed for cunning flashed in the man’s eyes. “Unless...the witcher’s bard friend can calm him down.”</p><p> </p><p>“...Uh.” Jaskier said intelligibly. “I...feel for you, and your circumstances, but I’m not sure you’ve the right-”</p><p> </p><p>The innkeeper-the large, broad, heavily muscled innkeeper-stepped close, hefting his cudgel. “Oh, I think I do. You seemed awfully interested in whether or not the angry bastard had white hair.”</p><p> </p><p>The bard swallowed. “...Okay, you’ve got me there, but-”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t care.” The man growled, scruffing him. The bard went obligingly limp-he <em> could </em>have struggled, but the strength in that grip said ‘bad idea’-and whimpered as he was dragged out the door.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“...Fucking bard.” Geralt muttered, sipping his rye. </p><p> </p><p>He’d gotten a good-sized bottle, but it wasn't doing much thanks to his mutations. Pity they did jack-all for other things; like the yearly rites of spring. He knew some alphas got hot ‘n bothered during the season to the point some of them went into rut like a goddamn deer. Lambert complained about getting half-chubs every time he smelled an omega-in excruciating detail-but Geralt barely <em> was </em> one; didn't even have a knot, not really. All he had was some sad little ridge that was more like scar tissue than a gland. He’d started his witcher training so early he hadn’t developed more than that. Not like Lambert who actually had a little swell on his that he mercilessly teased him about lacking; he’d started the course when he was twelve, plenty of time to grow at least a little, if not to start dropping his balls. Even Eskle, who’d started his around eight, had at least a hint of a gland. The process of becoming a witcher, though, was <em> supposed </em> to neuter them like geldings, which was why people dumped off their male alpha children to become witchers. It’s either that or conscription to the army; the way most of society got rid of their problematic members given to being rapey, fighty bastards.*</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, gland or no, he still was an angry asshole during spring. Usually not too bad, but this year has been...rough. And Jaskier had been smelling way too fucking good, especially to his enhanced senses. He knows the bard wore suppressant, but his nose is too good to be fooled and he’s almost certain the bard had been right at the edge of going into heat. Usually he avoided traveling with him during that time, but this year he’d been so caught up in...<em> everything </em>he hadn't the chance. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Not that you didn't tell him to fuck off in the worst possible way, you jackass. What piss-poor excuse is that, huh? ‘Sorry friend, your smell has been driving me literally crazy, so instead of talking it out like an adult I blamed you for stupid bullshit and told you I never wanted to see you again.’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, <em> that </em>would go over well.</p><p> </p><p>He sighed and gave up the bottle; it wasn't going to do anything for him at this point. He may as well go down and get some food, then find some local wench to fuck and take the edge off. He’d been keeping to his room for the past few days, trying to avoid people, because he <em> knew </em>he was in a state that wanted desperately to pick fights. He couldn't stay up here forever though; and he sighed in exasperation as he rolled out of bed and down to the common area. </p><p> </p><p>He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn't even notice the way the whole place has gone silent until the barkeep is staring at him, mouth agog, mutely ignoring his proffered coin.</p><p> </p><p>“...You’ve seen me before.” He drawled. “So unless I’ve somehow grown two heads-”</p><p> </p><p>-He doesn't <em> quite </em> remember the wording of the saying slurred behind him, but he does remember the way it was said. The insulting, presumptuous tone that grabs him like almost a physical thing. Something like red static starts to crowd into his brain as he slowly turns to regard the drunkard behind him. Everything narrows into a singular focus on that man; the asymmetry of his nose, the squinty pig-like eyes, his nasty, rotting teeth, his fat, lumpy gut...and the <em> smell. </em>The usual stink of beer and unwashedness, sure, but under that was the same salt-musk that the bard exuded, the same one that made his mouth water and hump his bedroll-</p><p> </p><p>-Except it was coming from a face that looked like he should toss it a fish.</p><p> </p><p>Or a fist.**</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“-I really can’t stress this enough,” Jaskier whined, “But despite his moniker he’s not some half-tame animal I can sooth with a few ‘good boy’s’ and treats.”</p><p> </p><p>“Gotta try,” His porter grunted. The innkeeper had given up making the bard walk and just hefted him under an arm. His face was a worrying shade of red from the exertion. </p><p> </p><p>“I admire your devotion to your quest, but truely, this won’t work. We and him parted ways under...rather stressful circumstances. I have a vested interest in seeing him learn some lessons in jail.”</p><p> </p><p>The man ignores him, and he’s not able to say much else as he’s buffeted by the large crowd that he’s being dragged through, the innkeeper liberally using his cudgel to force his way through. </p><p> </p><p>“Outta the way, you ploughing gawkers-” </p><p> </p><p>“The fucks got you in a hurry; only a fuckin’ alpha with an angel-blessed cock and a steel jaw gonna do shit-all. Ploughin’ mutant keeps punching anybody what gets too close!”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier sighed from his position tucked under the innkeeper's arm. Damn witcher; for all his proclaiming ‘don’t choose sides, don’t get involved’ of <em> course </em> got involved in the defense of some omega. And, apparently, despite being gelded by the process of becoming a witcher, still had enough alpha to go into something of possessive rage. It was nearly unheard of for an alpha to get <em> this </em> bad though; he’s got it on good authority that the tales of alphas being out-of-control rampaging bulls were just propaganda to excuse bad behavior and justify forcible conscription as some lord’s beatsticks. Rather than some fabled rut, it was <em> far </em>more probable that Geralt was feeling the effect of some curse, or he’d taken too many potions. The last time he’d done that Geralt had said it felt like the floor was melting, so-</p><p> </p><p>-It was about that time that he realized that, regardless of what’s causing it, said <em> extraordinarily dangerous </em>witcher is in a punchy rage and he’s been brought to try to calm him down.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, on second thought,” Jaskier says desperately, “My good man, I’m sure I can pay the damages myself, if you’ll just let me-”</p><p> </p><p>He’s not listening though, and to his horror Jaskier finds himself shoved through the ring of onlookers. He comes stumbling out like a drugged bait dog being prodded into the fighting pit to face off against the prize bulldog.</p><p> </p><p>Or wolf, as the case may be.</p><p> </p><p>“Calm him, bard!” The innkeeper yells at him.</p><p> </p><p>“The fuck’s he gonna do?” The earlier commentator snapped at his cheering section. “Sing him a lullaby?!”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut it Arne, that’s the witcher’s bard friend you moron! If anyone can get him to stop punching people it’s him!” </p><p> </p><p>At that word caught on, the surrounding crowd murmured amongst themselves. He heard ‘shit, I’ve heard of him’ and ‘he might have a chance’ and his favorite ‘better chance than the last guy, Gunther’s probably not gonna be eating solid food for a month’. The onlookers focus on him, his flashy clothes for once drawing attention in the <em> worst </em>way. He clings to his lute like it’ll do anything other than splinter under the blow of a sufficiently enraged witcher, and tries to look small and unnoticeable. Not that it does him any good, mind. The gaze of the crowd is perfectly sufficient in drawing the witcher’s attention to him. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt turns, and-oh, oh this doesn't bode well. His eyes aren't black from potions, but his pupils are blown wide, just a sliver of gold on the edge and his expression looks wild and feral. He’s clearly not in his right mind, and Jaskier can only thank some god he’s not equipped with his swords or some poor bystander might have gotten seriously hurt.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier swallows, trying not to let his knees shake.</p><p> </p><p>He’s not the only dog in this pen though; across from him a man has stepped out to take his chances. He’s either stupid or suicidal, or potentially both. The bard watches in morbid fascination as the man is prodded forward by his friends. He-instead of walking up to get into a territorial fistfight with the alpha at the center-approaches cautiously, <em> submissively, </em>which is an interesting tactic he must admit. He doesn't make eye contact, and approaches with his palms up in supplication, and okay, maybe this contender actually has a few brain cells because it seems to be working. The witcher observes him placidly, nostrils flaring as he scents the other man. Maybe this man is an omega in heat or close to it, with the hope that his enticing scent will calm the man.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s a good ‘un,” The man croons, “Take you back to my place eh? Got a nice nest fer yah, lots o’ blankets. Gotta fresh brace of rabbits too, can toss ‘em in to the pot, just fer yew.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s close now, and it looks like he might actually succeed in his endeavors. Jaskier starts to feel relief in that he might not have to try to calm this dangerous fiend of a man. This new contender seems to feel that way, getting more confidence as he got closer without the witcher laying him out flat.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, there's a good lad. You’d like that eh? Oooh, I’ll be such a good lay fer ya, satisfy you as much as ya like, breed you good an-” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier frowned.</p><p> </p><p>“Careful Yoen; he’s liable to take offense at-”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah please,” Yoen scoffed at his friend getting his confidence back in full. “Look at ‘em, thing just wanted a proper alpha to show an omega like ‘em a good time.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Omega?!</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Yoen turned his attention back to the witcher. “Isn’t that right, eh? Don’tcha worry, I’ll knot you proper and you’ll stop being such a bitch-”</p><p> </p><p>-and apparently Geralt was just waiting for him to come within arms reach so he could grab him, pull him in close, and growl in his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugly fucker like you?” He snarled. “<em> Not a chance.” </em></p><p> </p><p>-Then he bodily tossed him back to his friends in a terrifying display of strength, flinging him like a doll rather than a full-grown man. The witcher ignored the chaos in the stands to curl his lip, hocking and spitting to clear his senses in a <em> very </em>clear dismissal of what was, apparently, inferior alpha scent. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier observed this with a glazed feeling. <em> But...but witchers are all male alphas. That’s what everyone says ‘only good use for a male alpha is in the army or as a witcher.’ That’s what </em> <b> <em>Geralt, himself, </em> </b> <em> told me. That they only take male alphas for-fucks sakes he </em> <b> <em>told </em> </b> <em> me he was an alpha and he’s a terrible liar! </em></p><p> </p><p>He’s not given any more time to think on that as he sees Geralt’s nostrils flare and the witcher hones in on him. The other man blinks, and to his surprise-on top of everything else-actually seems to sober a bit at the sight of the bard.</p><p> </p><p>“...Jaskier?” He rasps, his pupils shrinking a little. “What are you doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>“...Uh.” He says intelligibly. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt actually comes to him, looking puzzled, and across the way the man who’d rather unsuitably tried to get Geralt to come with him to fuck the aggression out of him pipes up. “W-he’s not even an <em> alpha! </em>The fuck?! What’s that skinny lil’ thing have to offer?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt looks back with a murderous expression, pupils expanding, and the man shrinks back looking terrified. Everyone holds their breath, sure that the witcher will go on another rampage, and in desperation Jaskier speaks up to get the man’s attention back on him rather than letting the witcher potentially kill some dumb bastard.</p><p> </p><p>“Shall I list them categorically, or alphabetically?” Jaskier snaps.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt turns back to him with an...amused expression, and he’s impressed he’s gotten lucky enough to get <em> through </em> to him. Considering the circumstances of their last parting he’s not sure he really wants too, but Geralt is dangerous-if he didn't do <em> something </em> he might actually seriously hurt someone. He can’t in good conscience let this go on if he <em> can </em>distract him long enough for the guards to subdue him, and now he sees he just might be able too. Geralt’s not completely out of his skull; he seems to actually be able to speak semi-coherently and listen to him. Maybe-</p><p> </p><p>The fragile peace is broken by the sound of hooves and yelling, and he can see the pole-arms of guards behind the heads of the crowd. Suddenly, Jaskier is bodily grabbed, Geralt holding him in a bear hug in what, he realizes, is a protective embrace.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Mine.” </em>Geralt snarls. </p><p> </p><p>“Let me down you lummox!” Jaskier kicks his legs futilely. Damn it, the last thing he wants is to be taken in by the guards too; can’t he just-</p><p> </p><p>“Witcher! C’mere, I got a nest fer yah! Your lil’ bardy friend’ll be safe there!” The innkeeper yells.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier has to admire the guy’s perseverance, and ingenuity. Geralt actually seems to be considering this, and-oh, god’s damn it all, those guards are too close and the damn man won’t stop hugging him like he’s his favorite blankie. </p><p> </p><p>“Listen to the nice innkeeper Geralt.” Jaskier coos. “Just think! A nice, soft, nest. Just absolutely stuffed with blankets and pillows. Nice and quiet and <em> safe.” </em></p><p> </p><p>That convinces him, and the witcher runs off with Jaskier still in hand. Or, well, arm, as the case may be. Being carried like this-<em> again </em>-gave the bard the chance to muse over his life choices as they rabbit their way down alleyways.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> In his opinion, he’s forever doomed to a life of indignity. Really, he is. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully they’re able to quickly lose the guards in the rush of the crowd trying to get out of the way of the belligerent guard. The innkeeper waves them to a cellar door, flinging it open.</p><p> </p><p>“Down! Room in the back; it’s a nest I got for omegas to wait it out. Works just fine for hiding arseholes too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Very multipurpose.” Jaskier hisses, and they both dash down. </p><p> </p><p>Once in, Jaskier decides he’s had just about enough. He headbutts the man, and he hears the witcher’s nose break with a satisfying crunch. Surprised, Geralt drops him, and then because this has been one hell of a day <em> on top of everything else </em>gives the man the drubbing of his life. Well, tries; Jaskier’s no prize fighter and admittedly he’s just furiously slapping everything in reach. </p><p> </p><p>“You complete <em> ass, </em> what were you <em> thinking </em>-”</p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier-”</p><p> </p><p>“-what am I, huh?! Just some ploughing sack of potatoes you can haul about, eh?!”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Jaskier </em>-”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh no, of course not! No, I’m a punching bag, is what I am!” He’s screaming now. Probably crying too, but it’s tears of <em> anger. </em> Because he’s hurt, and he’s <em> furious, </em> and he’s completely fucking forgotten that the damned witcher is <em> still in a punchy heat-fueled rage- </em></p><p> </p><p>“JASKIER!”</p><p> </p><p>He jerks, coming to his senses, abruptly seeing that he’s trapped in a very small locked room with what’s probably a <em> murderous </em>omega. He stills instantly with a terrified squeak, staring at the man. </p><p> </p><p>Across from him, the witcher has...sort of come back to his senses. Geralt’s nose is smarting and bleeding freely which has put a damper on the red static that <em> had </em>been occupying his brain, and now he’s confronted by a bard who’s angrier than a wet tomcat with every right to be furious.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m…” He pauses, trying to speak coherently through his broken nose. It sounds horribly nauselly. “...Sorry?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier stares at him, mouth agog.</p><p> </p><p>Then he slaps him across the face, and okay, he probably should have seen that coming.</p><p> </p><p>“ ‘Sorry?’ Is that it? Is that all? You blame me for everything and walk off to sulk leaving me in the middle of the wilderness-<em> thank you </em>for that, by the way-and I come back to find you going on a damn rampage only to save you from it, and that’s it?” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier seems to run out of words for a moment, but only because he’s run out of air, and Geralt cuts in while he still can.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” He murmurs, pinching his nose. “The rampage...is...Jaskier, you know how spring makes me-”</p><p> </p><p>“What, irritable? Oh, by the way, I know you love to be monosyllabic and keep up your mysterious allure, but you might have <em> told </em>me you were an omega. What, didn't you-”</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Didn't <em> know? </em>Know what? That you’re a tantruming fool when in heat? That is a piss poor excuse by the way, what moron blames their-”</p><p> </p><p>“Didn't know that I was an omega.”</p><p> </p><p><em> That </em>takes him off guard. “...What? You-you have to be joking. Or...lying.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt just gives him a <em> look, </em>and Jaskier stares.</p><p> </p><p>“...Okay, I admit, you don’t really do either.” He paused. “But you're...aren't you, like, at least forty? Fifty? Gods, it’s hard to tell with you-”</p><p> </p><p>“Eighty.” He admits. “Not...really sure exactly, but…”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not…” Jaskier spluttered. “How is that even <em> possible </em>that you didn't know?”</p><p> </p><p>“This my first...heat.” He paused, frowning. “Didn’t know this was...are they always like this? This...intense. Feels like I can barely think.”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean…” Jaskier was at a loss. “Uh...first times can be, yeah. But omegas are usually weepier than...punchier.”</p><p> </p><p>“Figures.” Geralt mutters. “Mutations fuck with it bad enough that I don’t have this until over seven decades after I should have, and <em> then-” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Oooooh gods. Things make so much <em> sense </em> now. Like the...uh, whoring in spring. And the <em> thing </em>you had for Yennefer; her being an alpha and all. Oh gods, you met her in the spring too, no wonder you jumped right into her bed-”</p><p> </p><p>“Yen’s an alpha?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, she’s as gelded as you; female alphas often get conscripted into mage college, but...well, she must have enough of it to, ah, have some...influence.” He coughed awkwardly. “I, ah, might have gotten my hackles up a bit much around her, she stinks something <em> fierce </em> of alpha. That lilac and gooseberry does shit-all to cover it, let me tell you. I mean, I’m not much of an alpha myself, but even <em> so. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt stares at him, feeling something slot into place. No wonder he’d been so fucking horny around the bard lately; he’d been about to go into heat, and the bard-</p><p> </p><p>“You’re...you’re an alpha?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier shifts, looking uncomfortable. “...As it happens, yes. I, ah, would <em> rather </em>you didn't go around telling people.” </p><p> </p><p>“You didn't tell me.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not like it just comes up in conversation. I mean, you barely talk, what would you even <em> say </em>about that?” </p><p> </p><p>“...Hmmm.” Okay, point. “...Still...my heat...not an excuse. For my behavior.” He paused. “...If you want to slap me again, go ahead.”</p><p> </p><p>The bard looks <em> very </em>tempted, but to Geralt’s relief, doesn't. He’d hate for Jaskier to break his hand, he got lucky he’d rolled with the last one in time to soften the blow.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean…” Jaskier let out a breath. “It’s not an excuse, but it’s at least a <em> reason </em> why you were <em> such </em>an asshole! Why did you-did you-”</p><p> </p><p>To the witcher’s horror, the bard actually looks like he’s going to start crying again. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you! Maybe you were pissy, sure, but was it all your stupid spring moods, huh? Did you really <em> mean-” </em></p><p> </p><p>“No!” He grabs him, and almost shakes him, but forces himself to remember he’s trying to apologize not just get him to stop with the waterworks because they make him feel exactly as horrible as he should. “<em> No, </em> goddammit, I know I say you’re a pest and-you’re not. You’re <em> not. </em>You're my friend. You’re the only one I’ve ever met that’s said more than a few kind words to my face in eighty goddamn years!”</p><p> </p><p>That, of course, just makes it worse because Jaskier’s lip wobbles and then he’s bawling. Geralt sighs and reels him in so he can awkwardly pat his back until the other man stops crying. At least the bard goes along easily enough, sniffling and snuffling into his threadbare shirt. He even lets Geralt rest his head on his shoulder, and-oh. Oh, this close he smells...fuck, he smells <em> really </em> good. He vaguely knows there's a scent gland around the neck/shoulder region so it makes sense he can <em> really </em>smell it, and this close it’s overwhelming. It’s that salt-musk that makes his mouth water and-</p><p> </p><p>“Uhm.” Jaskier said awkwardly, feeling...was that-</p><p> </p><p>Geralt jerked back into awareness then, holding the bard at arms length with a grimace of embarrassment. “Not-sorry. Wasn't trying to-”</p><p> </p><p>He gave up and spun around. “<em> I hate spring.” </em>He hissed.</p><p> </p><p>Behind him Jaskier choked in embarrassment because there was...well, he may as well be blunt: there was a wet spot back here too. So while he couldn't see the dagger in Geralt’s pocket he could see that his friend was in something of a state. He flicks his eyes away, cheeks reddening.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” The bard starts, voice strained. “I, uh, guess I should...apologize too. I mean, not like I did it intentionally, but...I mean, it’s spring, and you were around <em> two </em>alphas at once and you hadn’t been taking suppressant-”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt frowns. “Doesn't seem to be affecting you though.”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, <em> I’ve </em> been around omegas in heat before; it’s not like it’s <em> my </em>first time. Even if yours is particularly...strong.”</p><p> </p><p>And gods was it <em> strong </em> . Jaskier hadn’t been able to actually focus on it until now, but now they’re out of danger and made up it’s about all he can smell. Despite that, he’s not all that affected like he’d normally be. Usually, the smell would be enough to make his codpiece work overtime to keep everything contained and unnoticeable and he’d have to dab on an extra measure of perfume while he tries not to hump everything in sight. But Geralt’s heat smells...to be honest, it smells <em> off. </em>The usual salt-musk is there, but it comes with a bitter acrid aftertaste in the back of the throat. Probably had something to do with him being a witcher; the mutations distorting everything to do with the ability to produce offspring so his body would focus on being an effective monster-killer. </p><p> </p><p>“Hnnng...not like yours isn't...overpowering.” The witcher grated. “Even stronger than Yens, right now.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s uh...probably the hormones, honestly.” Jaskier shifted uncomfortably. “I mean...I’d offer to leave but everyone knows who I am; the guard would probably snatch me up to get me to spill about where you are-”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt sighed. “Not gonna make you leave. Can tolerate it just fine if it means you don’t get flogged.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks. I, uh, can dab on-”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t bother. Can still smell you under-<em> nnnng!” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Geralt? Are you-oh no, of <em> course </em>you have cramps.” Jaskier sighed. “Lie down.”</p><p> </p><p>The witcher gave him a confused look.</p><p> </p><p>“Lie down, on your back. It helps.” The bard huffed, amused. “Look, I’m an alpha so I feel like I’m really not an authority on this, but I’ve been around enough omegas that thought I was one too to hear things whilst they commiserate. Cramps are one of the wonderful side-effects of a first heat.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt regarded him warily, but there wasn't a real reason to <em> not </em>do what the bard was saying. He cautiously approached the pallet, eyeing the piles of sheets and towels and pillows. “What’s with all the bedding?”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean what's with-? It’s a <em> nest. </em> I mean, I know the trials scrub you of a lot of things but they certainly don’t get rid of <em> everything.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Obviously.” He grunts ruefully. </p><p> </p><p>After eyeing it for a few minutes, he carefully settles in the center. There's not enough room to stretch out-he’s not a small man, especially for an omega which usually run on the smaller side-but he’s able to lay his upper half down flat and pull his legs up. It does, surprisingly, help with the cramps. He looks up at the bards curious face, framed by the sheets and pillows.</p><p> </p><p>“How is it? Cozy?”</p><p> </p><p>“...Feels like it’s going to suffocate me.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier rolls his eyes at him. “Oh please, there’s really no need to uphold the tough-guy persona. No shame in an omega liking a fluffy nest.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not-damn it Jaskier, I’ve no fucking clue what ‘nesting’ even is. I mean, I’ve heard of it but this is...honestly I just want a hot bath to help with the cramps and a normal bed.”</p><p> </p><p>The bard gave him a baffled look. “But it's...it’s a thing. Part of the whole heat ordeal. I mean, the alpha makes a nest and offers food to court-”</p><p> </p><p>“Just like male alphas are all soldiers or witchers?” He challenged.</p><p> </p><p>The colorful, slender, pacifist <em> alpha </em> bard paused, mouth open, before slowly closing it. “...Huh. Good..point, though I thought-well, chalk it up to tradition I guess. Personally <em> I </em>wouldn't mind snuggling down in this and getting plied with food.”</p><p> </p><p>The bard sighed and sat down himself outside of the edge. Geralt could only just see the top of his head over the rim of sheets.</p><p> </p><p>“Granted, I’m going on some rather out-of-date information from my grandfather. Alpha’s don’t really openly court anymore.” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt badly needs a distraction from how good he smells and the dull ache in his lower back, so he may as well get the bard talking. “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, most courtship was banned. Like, not all of it-just the fighting-because that got people killed and started all sorts of feuds and revenge pacts. I mean, <em> I </em> know alphas being aggressive bastards spoiling for fights is all bullshit, but that didn't stop us from getting a reputation or from lords exploiting it for propaganda. ‘Let us conscript them for the army! Great way to get rid of your problematic sons!’ Not that it has <em> anything </em>to do with getting rid of spare sons to solve the inheritance problem, or extra mouths that can’t bear children.”</p><p> </p><p>“...What about beta males? They can’t have-”</p><p> </p><p>“No, but they can stick their dicks in a beta woman or alpha female just fine, picking up the slack for the rest of the year when female alpha’s can’t fuck everyone else.” He sighed. “As far as society’s concerned we’re just unnecessary extras. Encouraged to die in fights with other male alphas in the olden days, or afield on someone else's soil today.”</p><p> </p><p>“Or become witchers.” Geralt murmured.</p><p> </p><p>“Speaking of,” Jaskier peered at him over the sheets. “How are you not-?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was given up to the school barely weaned.” He grunted. “My...it’s got a...it looks like a fucked-up knot. Sort of. Thought it never developed properly because I started the diet to prepare when I was only just able to talk.”</p><p> </p><p>The bard looks conciliatory. “...Sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugged. “Don’t know anything else. Can’t miss what I’ve never had.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fair enough I suppose.”</p><p> </p><p>They lapse into silence for a moment, the bard checking over his lute and re-tuning the strings that got knocked by all the rushing about. Geralt doesn't have any distractions though, just him and the throbbing in his dick and the disgusting feeling of his arsehole leaking slick. It reminds him of when he’d been throwing ballast off both ends during the trials, though at least it doesn't smell as horrid. Smells like a woman’s cunt, which while embarrassing, isn't quite as bad as shit. Still not that appealing on himself though; he’s never been interested in having anything up there considering what it’s usually used for. He doesn't usually go much for men; not that he hasn't had some experience at least. Mutations did little to stop a castle full of boys looking to experiment and get off; he can’t count the number of handjobs he’d gotten or received. </p><p> </p><p>“...There a reason you aren't a soldier or witcher Jaskier?” He grinds out, trying not to think about Eskle’s neat little trick he’d do with his wrist.</p><p> </p><p>A long silence, which is unusual for the bard. “...My real name is Julian.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt blinks, turning to look at the mop of brown hair peeking over the edge. The bard wasn’t looking at him, and he frowns.</p><p> </p><p>“I was such a weak and sickly little thing when I was a child. My mother was terrified that if I got picked up by witchers the trials would kill me, so she bribed the midwife into staying silent.” He plucked a few strings. “She blabbed eventually though; so my father gave me my portion of the inheritance and sent me to college So I wouldn't have to go into the military. I changed my name and wore a suppressant, and because I’m small and slender I pass easily as a beta or omega.”</p><p> </p><p>Another long silence.</p><p> </p><p>“...I miss my home.” He said quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt swallowed, feeling for the bard. He’d never had a life outside of being a witcher, but sometimes he’d wondered what it might’ve been like, having a wife or husband. Having children. Jaskier didn't have to wonder though; he’d grown up with parents, a home. He’s not good at comforting other people, but he does his best by reaching a hand over the rim and resting it on his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry that you lost all that.” He rasps quietly. “Can understand a little what that’s like.”</p><p> </p><p>He feels the shoulder roll under his hand as the bard shrugs. “It’s not so bad. Better than what I would have faced at home; the only way to get out of conscription is to tie yourself down with a partner and a child, and at sixteen I wasn't exactly ready to do that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Still aren't.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm,” The bard hums cryptically. “I mean, I won’t deny I’m a romantic-”</p><p> </p><p>“Slut, you mean-”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, like you aren't?” He snorts. “But...well, my grandfather was the omega; he told me how my grandmother treated him; you know, so I’d know how to treat my future mate right. He told me about the gift-giving, baking him buns and sweets, making him a nest of blankets and pillows all in his favorite colors, serenading him with her lute…”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds nice.” It does actually. Not something he’d like personally, but he can see how it would appeal to a person like the bard.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, not that I wouldn't absolutely <em> hate </em> being tied to one place and never traveling again, but ooooo, what I would give to have a lovely little thing to spoil like that.” Jaskier made a wistful sigh. “And yes, I know what you’re going to say: it’s exactly what it looks like when I woo everything from Redania to Cintra.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t let on what you are. Not unless you want to have your wings clipped.” He paused. “Is that why you play the lute?”</p><p> </p><p>He can feel the heat of the bard’s skin under his hand as he flushes. “I mean, I’ll admit the thought of serenading my mate played a part in my choice of profession.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt smiled a little, fondly amused. “Hnnn, not much of a mate, but wouldn't mind a little music now. Need something to take my mind off the cramps and maybe sleep; haven't been sleeping well past week or so.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier peeked over the edge to grin at him. “So you want me to sing you a lullaby?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt snorted, laying back and closing his eyes. “Yes; missed your music.” He cracked open one eye. “Don’t let that go to your head.”</p><p> </p><p><em> ‘Toooo late’ </em> the bard sang, then started strumming along. Geralt drifted off to the wordless refrain of <em> ‘toss a coin to your witcher’, </em> smiling fondly.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>*Historically, after the agricultural revolution happened hunters weren't needed quite so much and society could afford to 'spend' more able-bodied men on wars between communities, and the inheritance laws with everything going to the eldest sons and the 'spares' needing to be sent off so they wouldn't kill their elder brothers for land, led to a LOT of second, third, etc. sons being sent off to fight while the first sons stayed home and continued the family line. It's pretty easy to change that from second sons to 'alpha sons'.</p><p>**There is a REASON why 'bitch' means female dog and a woman that will fuck you up. Pretty much anything that's not a hot male in the way of a female in heat is asking to get their shit wrecked, which is why Geralt takes such massive fucking offense at this ugly bastard hitting on him. Cats, especially, are the kind to rip your face off and wear it as a hat. Cats are fucking EXTRA.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He woke up some odd hours later, a crick in his neck and his lower abdomen a solid wall of tension. Felt a bit like a pulled muscle actually, that same kind of tight soreness. He winced and rubbed at it tentatively, noting with some disgust his slick had dried, leaving him crusty and itchy. Gods, he could really go for a bath, he felt nastier than when he’d sliced his way out of the guts of some kikimores. </p><p> </p><p>Across from him Jaskier jerked into wakefulness as a rapping sounded at the door. “Nnn-five more minutes mom. Dun’ wanna go to school…”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt snorted, and gave him a shove to wake him up the rest of the way. He didn't feel like getting the door, may as well get the damned bard to open it.</p><p> </p><p>“Unnngh, I’m up, I’m up!” Jaskier groaned, staggering to the door. “What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that damn witcher calmed down yet? Or should I throw in an alpha?”</p><p> </p><p>“No need, good man.” Jaskier told him through the door. “The, ah, curse has worn off. He upset a witch, but thankfully it was only temporary.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine.” The innkeeper growled. “Get his purse, I want damages paid or I’ll take ‘is things!”</p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier,” He rasped, holding his coin purse out for the bard.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier takes it and counts out the requested amount; thankfully he’d just finished a contract on a fiend and he had plenty. </p><p> </p><p>“And there’s extra coin in it for you if you’ll bring everything down and have a bath for us.” Jaskier offered, showing a handful of coins that he’d stashed in his pockets, and the other man readily agreed.</p><p> </p><p>Once the innkeeper left, Geralt eyed the bard curiously. “ ‘Curse’?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you won’t be threatened with conscription, but being an omega comes with it’s own drawbacks, so I’ve heard.” Jaskier says, sitting down again to count out his ill-gotten gains. “Hate for you to have people sniffing in dismissal at your ‘fairer sex’. I mean, it’s unlikely, but-”</p><p> </p><p>“-But you’ve known omegas that get treated like that. Hmmm.” He tapped the pillow nearest to him thoughtfully. “Thank you for that. And the bath.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course. I imagine you’re still suffering from cramps.”</p><p> </p><p>A twinge made him grimace. “True. Is it...always like this? The cramps, the...moods?” </p><p> </p><p>“I think so, though honestly I’m hardly an authority on this.” He paused. “The anger though, <em> that’s </em> a new one. Never heard of an omega chasing alphas away; the whole <em> point </em> of heat is to attract every eligible alpha or male beta so they can do the deed while you’re fertile-what on <em> earth </em>did you find so objectionable about them?”</p><p> </p><p>“They were ugly. And entitled. About the only alpha scent that I found appealing was...yours.” Geralt coughed awkwardly. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier looked surprised, then gleeful. “Really? Is <em> that </em>why you grabbed me and went ‘mine’? Because quality alphas like me are so hard to come by?”</p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier, considering what else was on offer was a man missing a leg and half his teeth, and another that looked like he was made of fermented dough, the bar was set a bit low.”</p><p> </p><p>“Still though.” The bard preened, ignoring him. “It’s not everyday my alpha side gets a little ego stroking.”</p><p> </p><p>A snort from the nest, then Geralt pulled himself up, wincing. Jaskier watched him looking concerned.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve seen you shrug off bite wounds. Is it that bad?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s...a different kind of pain.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah. Well, I imagine it’s worse too, not only because of it being your first time. The mutations probably don’t help.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t understand why I can even go into heat in the first place. Infertile.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier just shrugged, not really sure what to say. Not like he needed to say anything because their bath arrived then, the innkeeper rolling in a big tub. He let it fall with a grunt. “Salts n’ soap is extra. Y’all need a drying rack for clothes so you can wash ‘em? No offense, but you both smell a bit...ripe.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier takes a surreptitious sniff, then hands over the coin for it while Geralt carefully gets out of the nest to start a fire in the hearth. Everything down here smells musty and disused, but the ancient stack of logs and tinder are still dry, and catch easily under a sign. That done he digs through his bags the innkeeper had brought him to find something to help with the aches, watching as the innkeeper's wife-who was as thick and bulky as her husband-crowds in with the hot water. Once she dumped everything she left them to it with an offer to bring down dinner later, and finally, <em> finally </em> Geralt can enjoy a bath. He takes a scoop of scalding water in his cup first to make willow bark tea so it can steep while he’s in, but after that he only adds a small splash of the cold water to make it only <em> just </em>comfortable. He hisses as he gets in, his lower abdomen spasming as it hits the water, then the twinging fades slowly. Geralt heaves a sigh of relief as the tension leaves at last. </p><p> </p><p>“Feeling better?”</p><p> </p><p>“Much.” He grunted, then swiped a bar to start actually washing. </p><p> </p><p>The scents of the soap and the salts were helping; shoving his face into scented bathwater is better at covering up the alpha smell from Jaskier than just perfume. It couldn't cover it up completely, but at least he didn't want to furiously jack off. He’d probably feel better once they were outside and the smell of alpha wasn't building up in a poorly-ventilated small space. Jaskier, rather than striding about pontificating like he usually does when Geralt’s tied down to one spot, is facing the wall with a tense set to his shoulders. Odd, it’s almost like he’s suddenly become a prude and-</p><p> </p><p>Geralt sighs, realizing he probably has. Before, Jaskier had assumed he was gelded alpha, and probably felt perfectly comfortable with nudity around that-now was a different kind of situation altogether. He hoped his bard friend wasn't about to start opening doors and other stupid gentlemanly shit for him, be a shame to have to punch him after they’d just made up. Eh, he’ll address that later if it becomes a problem. Right now they’ve got bigger concerns.</p><p> </p><p>“You know how to conceal your scents, right?” He asks, scrubbing.</p><p> </p><p>“W-oh, of course. Can’t get scented and have a mob after me for skating my ‘duties’ after all. I’ve got perfume in my bag for it, feel free. Though, ah, I guess you won’t need more than that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you?” He was curious about how Jaskier had concealed his knot. With how often he bedded people, he’s surprised some spurned lover hasn't outed him.</p><p> </p><p>“My necklace is a little charm to make my, ah...well, safe to say you can’t see it, but it’s <em> damned </em>uncomfortable during this time of the year, let me tell you.”</p><p> </p><p>He has to wonder if it operates like that little band Yen had put on his dick once. Only instead of keeping blood in it presses on the-<em> okay, time to stop thinking about that or this bath will be pointless.  </em></p><p> </p><p>He groaned, rubbing at his temples. “How does any omega <em> deal </em>with this crap?”</p><p> </p><p>“Honestly, most just skip it altogether.” Jaskier answers, scribbling in his notebook. “Taking suppressants is the usual order of the day. Only people I’ve heard that don’t are mated pairs.” </p><p> </p><p>“Hmmm.” He paused. “...Need to find a wise woman.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh,” Jaskier turned to give him an apprehensive look. “That’s not...your supposed to take it <em> before-” </em></p><p> </p><p>Geralt makes an irritated grunt and stands, sloughing off the bathwater, and the bard whips his head around with a flustered noise. Geralt ignores him. “Don’t have time to wait it out. Wasted too much time already.”</p><p> </p><p>“Where’s the <em> fire-” </em>Jaskier muttered to himself, trying not to blush. </p><p> </p><p>“Cintra.” He answers, rubbing himself down with a towel. “Or it will be, if it’s not in flames already.”</p><p> </p><p>“What, really?”</p><p> </p><p>“Saw a line of the black ones coming down here.” He said. “Was on my way to the capitol when...<em> this </em>hit. Wasted too much time already trying to isolate myself. Was hoping that I wouldn't go into...rut; if I managed to hole up for a short time.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, yes, I’ve heard all the wives tales about ruts about how scenting omegas in heat will make an alpha lose their mind. You <em> do </em> realize that’s not a thing, right? I mean, if we <em> really </em> did turn into rapey, aggressive bastards every spring we’d have been genocided with extreme prejudice <em> ages </em>ago. Won't matter if we’re given to be hulking brutes most of the time; that doesn't do much against a knife. Or a hangman’s noose.” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt snorted at that; tucking a towel around his waist. Yes, knotheads usually were big, meaty things-the stereotype had a basis in reality-but usually only the male ones exhibited that predilection towards being walls of muscle, and with statistics and all they weren't common. Not rare either, but certainly outnumbered by the other sexes and therefore laws and odds <em> weren't </em>in their favor. </p><p> </p><p>“Didn't know much about what’s a wives tale and what’s not. Witcher training didn't cover it.” He put in a fistful of salts. “Your turn. Should be cool enough for you now.”</p><p> </p><p>“I, uh…” Jaskier <em> still </em> wasn't looking at him. The floor, the ceiling, the gods damned <em> drying rack </em>- “Um. I uh...have things-”</p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier.”</p><p> </p><p>“-That can’t exactly be done whilst sopping wet, you know; these lyrics just-”</p><p> </p><p>He’d jotted down notes before actually- Geralt had seen him do it, balancing his notebook on the rim-but he knew pointing that out would be fruitless. “Jaskier. Get in the bath or I’ll throw you in.”</p><p> </p><p>“You <em> wouldn't. </em> I absolutely <em> refuse- </em> ACK! <em> ” </em></p><p> </p><p>Geralt smiled a little watching the bard surface, spluttering. “You cad! Brute! <em> Jackass!”  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Don’t have time for your new-found sense of propriety.” Geralt said evenly. “Besides, those clothes needed a wash anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Pr- </em>I wasn’t-It’s-”</p><p> </p><p>“-It’s nothing to do with sharing bathwater with an <em> omega, </em>right?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier’s face turned red, his expression registering that he was in water that probably <em> did </em>have remnants of-“YES-No? I-no, it’s got nothing to do with that, of course!”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmmm.” Geralt smirked at him and gathered up his clothes.</p><p> </p><p>“Wh-don’t throw those in with me! That’s <em> gross!”  </em></p><p> </p><p><em> So much for it not being about my omeganess. </em>“Then hurry up.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier muttered irritably, going for his shirt, then looking up at him. The red flush was back. “Would you, ah...mind terribly…”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt rolled his eyes and turned; not just for Jaskier’s sake though. The bard’s pheromones might be diluted with the bathwater and his own scent all over him (which was appealing in an annoying way-<em> fucking heat </em> ) but he’s not sure if he’ll survive Jaskier being naked. He doesn't want to take <em> another </em> goddamn bath. As it is he’s got a hardon, not something that’s going away no matter what he does. Well, there's one thing, but as much as he likes teasing the bard that would cross the border into creepy territory if he took himself in hand right now. At least he’s not leaking slick and feeling like red static is crowding into his brain, the nap earlier must have helped to calm him the fuck down. Or-and this <em> might </em>be another wives tale-the scent of a familiar alpha was telling his hindbrain that there was no need to punch his way through swaths of inferior mates when a good source of fucking was right at hand.</p><p> </p><p>(Granted, the wording of that particular wives tale was polieter, and the punchy bit wasn't included, but that’s what it boiled down to.)</p><p> </p><p> To keep himself occupied he takes Jaskier’s wet things once he’s cleaned them and puts them over the drying rack in front of the fire to steam, sipping his tea. The bard shoots him an irritated glance.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, can you, I don’t know, put some clothes on?” He pleads. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt eyes his only set (well, other than the nice ones he still had left over from the cintrian party, and no way was he wearing those). “I’m <em> not </em>putting those back on Jaskier.”</p><p> </p><p>“At least wear a blanket to preserve your decency!”</p><p> </p><p>“Take more than a blanket to give me any sort of decency.”</p><p> </p><p>“Close your legs then, dammit! I can see right up the-”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t look then.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier splutters and throws his hands up, deciding this fight isn't worth it. He sets to vengefully scrubbing himself instead, his skin turning an angry pink before he gets out and dries off, wrapping himself up in a spare blanket head to toe. As soon as he’s out Geralt throws his clothes in and sets to scrubbing. His clothes have accrued a lot of mud and splatters of blood-among other bodily fluids-and it takes a while, but eventually everythings as fresh as it’s going to get and he sets those to dry as well.</p><p> </p><p>“By the time these are dried, the sun should be down. Then we can leave and avoid the law around here.” Geralt says, settling in the nest to let Jaskier have the stool. He resists the urge to kick away the mass of sheets and pillows. “Need to talk while we have the time.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “About…?”</p><p> </p><p>“Meant. What I said. About...about you being my friend. Not sending you away again.” He grits his teeth against the almost physical pain of resistance to saying sentimental things, but he <em> owes </em>him that. “But traveling with me to cintra...we might be going into a war zone. Was planning to go there since the dwarves told me of the war brewing on the mountain; was planning to tell you to part ways with me for your own safety.”</p><p> </p><p>“You could have worded it better.” Jaskier muttered, still hurt which...was fair. One apology wasn't going to be enough; Geralt was going to be eating a <em> lot </em>of humble pie.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. I could have.” He said honestly. “So I’ll try again: Jaskier, you might want to head to the coast without me. I’ll go find the prince myself.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Prince-? </em> Geralt, have you been under a rock?” The bard stared at him incredulously. “It’s <em> princess </em>. Honestly man-”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt’s eyes widened. “It’s-it’s a <em> girl?” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Bit late for an announcement, but <em> yes </em>you moron.” Jaskier rolled his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>He swallowed, trying not to feel a rise of panic-he was used to <em> boys </em>. Before there had been a massacre at the stronghold there had always been a dozen or so around, hell, he’d trained batches of them at a time. But girls...he had no idea how too...what did they even...didn’t they like pink things? Dolls? Maybe he needed to pick up a doll? And dresses. They wore dresses and smocks, right?</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier was giving him a concerned look. “Hello? Earth to Geralt?”</p><p> </p><p>He jerked out of his panic. <em> Burn that bridge when I get to it. </em> “-Nnng, fine. I go get <em> her </em>then.”</p><p> </p><p>“How on earth are you going to find a single girl out of thousands in the middle of a war zone?” Jaskier asked incredulously. “If Cintra is already in flames that will be a herculean task, even for you. You don’t even know what she <em> looks </em>like!”</p><p> </p><p>He opened his mouth, realized he had nothing that he could say to that and closed it, frowning. “...Have to try.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier sighed in a resigned way. “True. Look, I really <em> don’t </em>want to go into the middle of a battle but...I’ll go with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not safe-”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> know </em> it’s not! But I’m the only one of us that knows what she even <em> looks </em>like!” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt’s eyes widened. “How?”</p><p> </p><p>“Played on her sixth birthday. Wasn’t a very merry occasion, despite me trying though; her parents...well, let’s just say I was glad I was at her birthday celebration instead of the funeral a few months earlier. Both Duny and Pavetta were lost at sea.”*</p><p> </p><p>“...I hadn't heard of that.” <em> Poor girl...lost her parents and now might lose everything else if this war is as bad as it’s been predicted. </em>He sighed, moving past the maudlin thoughts. “Surprised Calanthe let you in; she knows as well as anyone else that you are friends with the man that ruined the damn presentation of her daughter.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ciri’s a fan, apparently. And the old battleaxe adores her; probably wanted to cheer her granddaughter up. Hell, I even managed to get a smile out of her, despite our, ah, tumultuous past. Think she forgave me a little because I got Ciri to laugh.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hnnn, your charms always have had a way of getting you out of trouble as often as <em> in </em>.” He said with a smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Not sure if they’ll be enough to get the lioness of Cintra to give up her cub if Cintra’s still intact when we get there, but I’ll try.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt gave him a worried look. “I...don’t want to drag you into this. Might be worse than a cuckold husband or wyvern. This is war and politics.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know.” Jaskier sighed. “I mean, maybe it’s a bit...futile to try and save one little girl out of thousands, but I want to at least <em> try.” </em></p><p> </p><p>And he does, even if it seems a little self-centered and selfish to want to protect the wane little thing that had been quiet and disinterested in food until he lavished attention and songs on her, making up one about ‘a blue-eyed little swallow’ on the spot to get her to smile when there were doubtless hundreds of other blue-eyed smiling little girls going to die. The bard strummed a few maudlin notes, his mouth twisted in a grimace.</p><p> </p><p>“All anyone can do Jaskier.” The witcher said quietly, holding his gaze.</p><p> </p><p>They lapsed into silence then, taking the dinner when it finally showed up and eating heartily because this might be the last cooked meal instead of trail rations they’d have for a while.</p><p> </p><p>They both rode out at night after buying a horse for Jaskier from the innkeeper-whom he promptly named Pegasus, much to Geralt’s annoyance-because they couldn't waste time walking on foot and he wasn't going to subject Roach to carrying both of them. They didn't ride far, just enough to be out of reach of the local law, and out of earshot because Jaskier of <em> course </em> was eager to complain about missing a night spent indoors. At least the late-spring night was mild, saving them from having to share a bedroll for warmth, which Geralt was grateful for. His heat had backed off somewhat but it hadn’t <em> left, </em> and it would have been hell to sleep next to the bard, who was <em> still </em> smelling far too appealing. It was bad enough that he’d woken himself a few times that night humping his bedroll and leaking. He had to wander into the woods to furiously jack off because he wasn't going to ruin his roll with either cum or slick, and tried not to freak out <em> too </em> much when he shot nothing but clear fluid.** He stared at his cock deeply concerned, but had to give up when he could hear Jaskier calling <em> ‘Geraaaaaalt, where are you?’ </em></p><p> </p><p>He came back with a grunted ‘went to piss’, not like it helped much because the bard’s face flushed. Belatedly he realized that the other man could probably <em> smell </em>what he’d been up to-normally witchers didn't have much of scent regardless because it didn't do to be smelt by monsters before they could sneak up and ambush them-but the heat was throwing all that out of the window. Jaskier desperately saved face by frantically packing everything and they were on the road in record time, even if their bags were a bit lumpy and Geralt knew that it was going to be hell finding anything in them.</p><p> </p><p>It took a few towns and days of suffering-and nights of jacking off when the bard was asleep, he hadn't felt this desperately horny since he was a teen, gods damn it-before they found a wise woman willing to deal with them. Granted, it’s possibly because this particular one is nearly blind and therefore couldn't see that he was a witcher. By then Jaskier was practically vibrating with concern.</p><p> </p><p>“They don't...I’ve never heard of a heat lasting a <em> week </em>Geralt. Usually a day, three at the most. Are you sure that you haven't actually been cursed? I wouldn't put it past that vicious little sorceress of yours to do it.” He’d said worriedly. </p><p> </p><p>The wise woman-Griselle-squinted at Geralt. “Ehhh...it happens sometimes. Rare. Very rare. Tell me, have you been mounted yet?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt gritted his teeth. “...No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why ever not? I got the herbs for it.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re in a hurry. No time for a brothel.”</p><p> </p><p>Griselle gave Jaskier a reproachful look. “And you alpha? Not taking care of your omega?”</p><p> </p><p>“How did you-” Jaskier spluttered. </p><p> </p><p>She tapped her nose. “Traded in my eyes for a better nose. Now, why aren't you two taking the simplest answer to a problem, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s not <em> mine. </em>We’re friends!”</p><p> </p><p>“Eh, what’s a screw between friends in the spring?” She waved it off. “A roll or two and he’ll settle down. It’s the alpha scent without the fuckin’ prolonging the heat. Get ‘is arse pluged enough he’ll become gravid, then a lil’ tea and he’ll be right as rain.” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt coughed, forestalling this mess of a conversation. “That...won’t work. I’m sterile.”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes widened, then went soft. “Oh, you poor darlin’! All ready for a nest but you haven't any eggs.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt stands there stiffly while this ninety-something bent crone coos over him and pats his abdomen, Jaskier watching the proceedings with a look of bafflement that’s quickly turning-not to amusement (he’d prefer that, honestly)-but something like sympathy, as though the fact that he’s always been sterile has somehow gained more significance now that he’s an omega. Jaskier had never seemed to spare a thought to it when he’d assumed he’d been a gelded alpha, but then again, he’s never tried to pack his things for him or cook him food when he’d thought that too. He’s not sure how to treat the suddenly gentlemanly behavior of the bard other than pointedly ignoring it because he’s still on his best behavior for being such an asshole to the human on the mountaintop.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, there’s one thing for you ‘sides you two splitting up, but it’s not going to be pleasant.” She says, finally leaving off trying to comfort him. “We’ll ‘ave to trick your body into <em> thinking </em> it’s pregnant. Normally this ain’t too bad-lots of unmated omegas takes it durin’ spring with no problems-but you’ll be taking it in the middle of a heat <em> and </em>a double dose. This is gonna be a doozy for you, I can guarantee you that.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shrugs. He’s used to pain, he’ll bear it just fine. “If this is what it takes, then fine. Brew it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yer sure? The side effects-”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure.”</p><p> </p><p>“All right, fine.”</p><p> </p><p>She gave him a bag of herbs with instructions on how to take it, and they set off. It was horrid stuff, but considering his potions it barely even registered. It took a few days for his heat to finally end.</p><p> </p><p>It also took a few days for the side effects.***</p><p> </p><p>“Geralt!” Jaskier was looking alarmed. “Is that-when on earth did you get cut?”</p><p> </p><p>He blinked, looking at the saddle in confusion. It was, to his surprise, smeared with blood. Not a <em> lot </em>but...he took a sniff, and yes, it was his. “The hell?”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean ‘the hell’? Are you hiding an injury? I know you, you always-”</p><p> </p><p>“No, damn it.” He said, checking himself over, confused. The blood was too fresh to be an old stain, and he eventually made a frustrated sound. “I’m going to wash off in the stream, see if I can’t find it. You set up-”</p><p> </p><p>He blinked to see Jaskier already had started to put up their tents, and closed his mouth. <em> Okay, maybe him being like this isn't...bad actually- </em></p><p> </p><p>He bares his teeth at the thought and digs for a towel. He has to do a lot of rummaging around, and maybe it <em> is </em>bad Jaskier’s doing the packing and unpacking, he can’t find anything. Eventually, he finds the damn thing and sets off for the stream. </p><p> </p><p>He does, in fact, find the source of the blood.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier sees him coming back with a stormy expression and eyes him warily. “What was it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing.” He growls, throwing his pants over a tree branch near the fire. They’re wet, which confuses the bard. He just washed them yesterday.</p><p> </p><p>“...Right.” Jaskier frowns, watching him duck into his tent and hearing him curse and rummage around. Something about ‘<em> how do women </em> <b> <em>do </em> </b> <em> this’ ‘is this even fucking normal for a-?’ </em></p><p> </p><p>Eventually, he emerges, walking awkwardly, and stands staring at Jaskier. <em> Also </em>awkwardly.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright?” He queries, strumming a few notes on the lute.</p><p> </p><p>“...Fine.”</p><p> </p><p>He narrows his eyes at the witcher, suspicious. “...Really.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt stares at him for a long moment, and the bard can recognize when the other man is attempting to speak and trying to find the words.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it…” The witcher paused. It was a long pause.</p><p> </p><p>“...Yes?” Jaskier prompted.</p><p> </p><p>“...” </p><p> </p><p>“...Is it normal for omegas to bleed out the ass?”</p><p> </p><p>One of the bard’s lute strings made a sharp <em>twang </em>as it broke.</p><p> </p><p>(The second side effect he discovered when he’d overheard a baby squalling for milk and he felt a curious tingling on his nipples.</p><p> </p><p>It was just his luck that his tits started leaking when wearing his usual loose shirt. He had to hurriedly put on his chest armor to cover up the wet spots.)</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier knew, in an absent way, that male omegas could grow...when they were…</p><p> </p><p><em> Tits, </em> Some immature part of him said inanely <em>those are tits. Like, barely a mouthful, but I know tits when I see them.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Could you…” Jaskier said, speaking a little louder than necessary to drown out the litany of <em>tits, tits, titstitstits- </em></p><p> </p><p>Geralt looked up at him, taking in his red face and eyes riveted, unmoving, on his face with a narrow stare.</p><p> </p><p>“...Put a shirt on?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt glared at him, so he’s sure that the witcher <em>knew </em>why he was asking, but he put a shirt on anyway so…</p><p> </p><p>They didn't comment on it.</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully it’s only a few weeks that the witcher has to take the herbs and eventually the, ah, <em> side effects </em>will wear off, though Jaskier thinks he’ll miss some of them. Obviously not the physical ones (okay, maybe the tits) but he would miss the other, more subtle effects. He’s not <em>sure </em>if the hormones are to blame, but Geralt’s...chatty. Well, chatty for him. He’s learning more about the witcher in these few weeks than he had in <em>years. </em>He’s quick to take advantage of this rare opportunity to ask things he’d been sure that would get him a glare or a punch before.</p><p> </p><p>“So, why <em>aren't </em> there any new witchers being made? I mean, mothers scare their kids with being taken away to be made into witchers to make them behave, but that’s not happened to anyone <em> I </em>know.”</p><p> </p><p>“We used to.” Geralt said, helping Roach pick her way up the narrow path. They were taking a shortcut that resembled a goat path more than an actual trail, and it was too narrow to ride. “Used to even have a few witchers devoted to rounding up any alpha kids, toddlers up to ten-year-olds. Law said they had to be given up, but...well. The collectors had to go in pairs for their own safety.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not many parents willing to give up their kids for the ‘greater good’ I take it.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt snorted. “Yeah, as shitty as it was it really used to <em>be </em>the greater good. Not long ago people couldn't live in little towns without reinforced walls to keep the hordes of monsters out. Even <em> that </em> wasn't a guarantee at night.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier listened, fascinated, as Geralt described whole villages being overrun with ghouls that managed to tunnel under the walls; how farmers had to have armed bowmen on the lookout while they worked the fields. Each village was forced to be a self-sufficient commune working together with everything shared to ensure their survival; trade between them could only be undertaken with heavy caravans guarded by at least a pair of witchers. His order was in high demand in those days; at that time they’d enjoyed privileges afforded to few others than royalty or nobles. Room and board to be furnished on-demand at no cost <em> and </em>practical immunity to laws. But that came at a cost: the high attrition rate from the process to make a witcher and being killed at the hands-well, claws-of monsters meant they had to get their subjects by the bushel, and the only resource that they could exploit that didn't impact communities was male alphas. </p><p> </p><p>“But I’d always heard only alphas could take the potions…? I mean, obviously not, since your living proof, but-”</p><p> </p><p>“Witchers can be made from anyone. Omegas, betas, male, female-doesn't matter.” He grunted. “But male alphas are best-they’re naturally bigger, stronger. Also, they can't nurse babies or bear them, and beta males or alpha females can do the work of impregnating everyone. They’re a ready-made expendable source for witchers. Same reason they’re made into soldiers today.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier swallowed heavily and changed the subject. “So...why don’t you round up alpha kids anymore?”</p><p> </p><p>There was a long pause. “...Times changed.”</p><p> </p><p>Once the monsters started declining, so did the witcher’s esteem and respect in the eyes of the common folk. Geralt’s generation only consisted of children that were acquired via the law of surprise or given up willingly, as it was too much of a risk to just <em>take </em>children like they used to. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, that explains the child-snatching legends-” Jaskier said, scribbling furiously. Thankfully Pegasus was the type to placidly follow along because the bard was too preoccupied to even keep a hand on his reins, although now they could walk side-by-side on the slightly wider path Geralt could snatch them if need be. “Although who on <em> earth </em>would willingly give up their child for that is beyond me.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt was-uncharacteristically, because again, he’d been so <em> talkative </em> as of late-silent. It took him a moment to notice, but after a while, he looked up from his scribblings to see Geralt’s expression of...it was difficult to tell, as the witcher wasn't the most <em>expressive </em>sort, but it looks pained as he stares at the horizon.</p><p> </p><p>“...Mine was willing to.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh <em> Geralt </em>.” The bard put a hand on his shoulder gently. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt’s jaw tightened. “She was a druid. She would have been forced to stop being one to take care of me.”</p><p> </p><p>It sounds like a deflection, and it is in a way-it was logical to give up your child if keeping them meant being kicked out of your order-but that <em>had </em>to hurt. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry my friend.” He said, deciding to risk rubbing that same shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>It’s a safe bet; Geralt leans into it and lets him do so for as long as he likes. Then again, that might be also another side effect of the hormones; Geralt’s been very...touchy-feely as of late, putting a hand on his shoulder to guide him away from dangers rather than barking a warning at him, or sitting close enough to be touching around the fire. Whether it's the hormones or not though, he’s glad the witcher is allowing him this. He worries about the man sometimes, living on the road without a friendly touch or two. His family and friends had always been free with the hugs and pats, and he was <em>convinced </em>that it was integral to a healthy state of mind. He’d been slowly attempting to tame his feral witcher with...mixed results-including getting punched-but now Geralt was much more amenable to touches.</p><p> </p><p>As they traveled on the road that continued even <em>after </em>the herbs wore off, to Jaskier’s delight. Well, not as much, but certainly more than before. With an opening presented the bard did his best to exploit it, adding light touches and coaxing him to talk more, as well as continuing the cooking and the tending he’d done before. Providing for an omega was usually done by the alpha that was bedding them while they were in heat-as they were a bit too... <em> preoccupied </em>to do it themselves-but the rest of the year they’d presumably be around family or friends that could help when their pregnancy started to restrict their abilities. Male omegas had an especially difficult time, and it wasn't uncommon for them to be on bed rest for part of it. Technically, being the only one around to take care of an omega meant he was obligated to make sure they were eating and that the food they got was good, hearty stuff. </p><p> </p><p>Obviously, Geralt wasnt pregnant and he could take care of himself, but dammit it was the <em>principle </em>of the thing. He was determined to live up to the standards his grandfather had solemnly instructed him to follow, and he’d always felt an aching need to dote on an omega-even if said omega was a scarred mass of muscle that could tear monsters apart with their bare hands. Even if he half expected said omega to growl that he could, indeed, take care of himself. Bizarrely enough, Geralt seemed to...allow it. He’d sometimes get this baffled look on his face whenever the bard insisted he’d have the last rabbit or come back from hunting said rabbits to a ready fire and a pot boiling, but he didn't exactly <em>object </em>to it either, so…</p><p> </p><p>They didn't comment on that either.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The rumblings of war had startled the more flighty folk into moving, and it’s a slog to swim their way upstream. Even with the horses it takes the whole summer to get there, all on foot or horseback as the river barges are heading the opposite direction, laden with people fleeing. Geralt tries to keep up a relentless pace, and Jaskier tries to keep up without complaining too much-he knows how vital it is to get there in time-but by the time they get there the weather has started to get a nip in the air, fall coming on early and fast.</p><p> </p><p>The beginning notes of fall aren't the only thing in the air, though.</p><p> </p><p>“That doesn't look good,” Jaskier says worriedly, eying the heavy smoke.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not.” Geralt grunted, scenting the air and watching ravens and crows winging towards it. “Blood..burnt flesh...smells like a battlefield.”</p><p> </p><p>He was right. They didn't get close enough to see details, but from their concealed position they could see burning pallets, with soldiers dragging bodies to them to dispose of friend or foe. Geralt finds the quick disposal of bodies commendable-they attracted ghouls-but that was the only good thing about the scene. From the looks of it, these were all in black uniforms with the golden sun on the standards instead of the blues and rampant lion. He can’t be absolutely sure, but all the signs point to the Nilfgardians being the victors. This close to cintra they have to dodge patrols of the black ones, and it leaves them both tense. Even Jaskier is quiet, leaving off singing or really even talking louder than a whisper, wearing Geralt’s black cloak to cover his bright clothing. They light no fires and live off cold rations and huddling together to keep warm in the night. Even though it’s only the end of august theirs already frost on the ground; and he catches Geralt eyeing it worriedly.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll have to hurry after this,” He says, standing. “Mountain passes will close early this year.”</p><p> </p><p>They hurry to the capitol, and to his relief, they reach it before the nilfgaardians. Unfortunately, it’s locked up tight, the city gates drawn. The dither at the entrance trying to think of what they could do until a passing wall guard spots them.</p><p> </p><p>“Ho! Who goes there?”</p><p> </p><p>They look at each other, and Jaskier shrugs. “May as well be honest. Hell, maybe Calanthe will order them to let you in; can’t imagine she’d pass up a bodyguard like you to the princess with the black ones poised to strike.”</p><p> </p><p>“Or she’ll order them to shoot at us from the wall.” Geralt growled.</p><p> </p><p>“She wouldn't. Ciri <em> adores </em>me.” He says primly.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt rolled his eyes at him, but called up to the guard. “Geralt of Rivia, and Jaskier the bard!”</p><p> </p><p>The man nods and disappears from view. They’re left to wait for hours, and the sun has passed its zenith by the time he reappears-this time at a smaller side door. “Come on in then; the queen herself wants to see you.”</p><p> </p><p>They trade looks but follow along behind the man as they’re rushed to the palace. They’re quickly ushered into a small chamber, and even before they get in Geralt’s nostrils are flaring with the scent of blood and death. Inside is Mousesack, a young girl, and on the couch-</p><p> </p><p>Shes...so much smaller than he remembers. Crumpled and broken on the couch, blood clotting the blue banner wrapped around her torso as an impromptu bandage. Geralt’s eyes widen at the sight, and he realizes just <em>how </em>badly the fight had gone. <em> She’s not going to survive this. </em></p><p> </p><p>Jaskier is the one to approach, giving Ciri a small smile. “Hello little sparrow. Remember me?”</p><p> </p><p>She smiles back, if a little wanly. “My birthday isn't for another month.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, well. Thought I’d come early.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt approaches Calanthe then while Ciri’s talking quietly to Jaskier, kneeling down next to her. She watches him a moment, gathering her strength.</p><p> </p><p>“Have...you come...for her?” She gasps. “After all these years?”</p><p> </p><p>He pauses, considering what to say, and how to say it. “...I never wanted to take her from her family. Her home. <em> You.” </em>He swallows. “I only ever wanted her to grow up without ever knowing what it’s like not to have any of those things like I did.”</p><p> </p><p>He laid a hand on hers. “But I will if you wish it. I’ll keep her safe, love her and teach her as best as I can even if...even if it's not the same as…”</p><p> </p><p>She squeezed his hand weakly, forestalling any more stumbling. “Yes, I do wish it.” She gives him a trembling smile. “You’ve my blessing even.”</p><p> </p><p>Then she urges him close so she can whisper in his ear, and what she says gives him goosebumps.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Do not let them have her,” </em> She hisses, <em> “They will turn her into a weapon. Use her as a tool. She is what they’re </em> <b> <em>here </em> </b> <em> for.” </em></p><p> </p><p>She releases him then, urging her captain of the guard close to whisper instructions to both him and Mousesack, and after that is done she reaches for her grandchild. Ciri goes, pale and shaking, to kneel next to her grandmother, doing her best to listen through tears and fear.</p><p> </p><p>“Geralt is your destiny child.” She says solemnly, and then, softer, “He’s sworn to protect you. Go with him, he’ll take you to safety.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I want to stay with <em>you. </em>” She says, voice trembling. “I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>“...I know,” Calanthe says softly, stroking her face. “But all the same, you <em> must-” </em></p><p> </p><p>The princess cries out then, her scream of <em>no </em>making the glasses on the table next to her shake, the air vibrate. His medallion is doing a worrying tapdance on his chest, and <em>oh no, that’s what they’re after; a source, just like her mother- </em></p><p> </p><p>He puts his hands on her shoulders, hoping to calm her and stop an outburst. She might not be strong enough to have one yet but…</p><p> </p><p>She whirls around to stare at him with those eerie blue eyes, and he swallows. “Once it’s safe, I’ll bring you back.”</p><p> </p><p>Her lip trembles. “You promise?”</p><p> </p><p>“I promise.”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't know if that’ll ever happen but he does know that this is her home, her inheritance. If the north bands together to push Nilfgaard back to free Cintra, he’ll bring her here to take back her throne if he can. It’s a lot to ask of a simple witcher, but he has to at least try to offer it. </p><p> </p><p>All too soon the captain and Mousesack are back, supplies tucked under their arms. </p><p> </p><p>“The horses are ready. My men will do everything they can to clear the way and keep it clear for your escape.” </p><p> </p><p>They head down, hurrying to the stables. Geralt can hear-distant, but he can hear it-the sound of ballista wreaking havoc on the city gates. In a few hours, the black ones would reach the castle, and knowing Calanthe she wouldn't surrender until all her men were dead in the pursuit of honor. A waste of men and lives, but it would buy their small company time. By the time nilfgaard got in and figured out their prize had fled they would be long gone.</p><p> </p><p>Mousesack took point, Jaskier and Ciri in the middle with Geralt taking the role of rearguard, and they rode hard out the back until the capitol faded from view and the stars emerged.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>*In the books Duny and Pavetta die at sea when Ciri was six rather than shortly after she was born like in the series. Idk why the show left out this plot point but I’m including it. Also, Mousesack lived in them too-so he got to come along for the ride, if only because I like him.</p><p> </p><p>**Producing enough progesterone to allow pregnancy in a ‘male’ (using this term loosely, because a/b/o fucks a lot with the scientific definition of male, ie: produces sperm=male, produces eggs=female) kills the ability to produce sperm. IRL men with hormone issues can’t produce viable sperm and sometimes can’t even get it up. Be glad that you’re just shooting fluid Geralt, or this would be a lot less fun.</p><p> </p><p>***Side effects of the pill may include: spotting, sore tits, enlarging of said tits, lactation, and mood swings. The cuddliness and talkativeness is a side effect of your cat getting knocked up before you get the chance to spay her. Seriously, no concept of personal space <em>or </em>inside voice. </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>